Delirium
by The Fallen Sky
Summary: He's not sure how long he stands there, an unnoticed witness to an act of pure vileness, paralyzed with rage, but when he opens his eyes, everything goes red.


Title: Delirium  
Author: The Fallen Sky  
Rating: M  
Pairing: You'll have to read to find out. ;)  
Summary: He's not sure how long he stands there, an unnoticed witness to an act of pure vileness, paralyzed with rage, but when _he_ opens _his_ eyes, everything goes red.  
A/N: This is a one-shot set in an AU and takes place after the end of the game. I should warn you that this story contains some material that may be objectionable to some people.

Thanks to my Baby Girl for inspiring another TLoU fic. You rock! :)

Feedback is welcome. Enjoy!

* * *

His footsteps are slow and measured as he makes his way through the house, taking extra care so as to remain undiscovered. He winces when an old floorboard creaks beneath his feet, stopping immediately and holding his breath, hoping that the sound went unnoticed by the occupants of the house.

After several long moments, he exhales with relief, certain that the noise was unheard or disregarded, and proceeds to his destination.

He stops just outside the door to the bedroom, which is slightly ajar. From within, he can hear the rhythmic squeaking of bedsprings accompanied by soft, feminine moans and sighs.

She's in there...with _him_ , and they're...

The very thought of her having sex with _him_ makes his blood boil and fills him with unspeakable rage. It takes all of his strength to fight back the urge to burst in there and put an end to this abominable coupling once and for all. Instead, he grits his teeth and takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

He knows the prudent thing to do would be to leave and deal with the situation later, but his common sense has left him, and his protective nature is kicking in.

He's not sure what compels him to do it, but he peers through the crack in the door and catches a glimpse of bare skin, hers, judging by the long auburn hair cascading down her back. He's fixated on, almost mesmerized by the movement of her hair, which sways and bounces in concert with her movements.

It's not until she moans _his_ name that he snaps out of his trance-like state, and he's reminded of exactly what's happening in the bedroom.

His anger rises with each squeak of the bedsprings, each breathy moan piercing his heart like a knife.

Before he knows what's happening, he's inside the bedroom, in full view of the lovebirds, but they're oblivious, completely wrapped up in each other.

The sounds of their coupling are louder now, almost deafening, and the smell of sex is thick in the air, making him sick to his stomach to the point he can taste bile in his throat.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, he's standing next to the bed, close enough that he could reach out and touch her, and close enough that he can see everything, her hands resting on _his_ stomach for balance, _his_ cock sliding in and out of her body, her breasts bouncing slightly with each roll of her hips, _his_ hands gripping the sheets, fingers flexing in time with her movements, both of them with their eyes closed, savoring the pleasure and euphoria of their connection.

It sickens him and fills him with hatred and rage unlike he's ever known causing him to tighten his grip on the revolver in his hand, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

He's not sure how long he stands there, an unnoticed witness to an act of pure vileness, paralyzed with rage, but when _he_ opens _his_ eyes, everything goes red.

His arm raises.

The revolver's hammer is pulled back, the cylinder rotating.

 _His_ eyes go wide as the trigger is squeezed.

A loud bang resounds throughout the room as fire erupts from the gun's barrel.

A single bullet enters and exits _his_ skull, splattering blood and brains on the pillow beneath _his_ head.

A wisp of smoke seeps from the end of the gun's barrel.

Time ceases to exist.

For a moment, the world is quiet, peaceful, perfect.

The moment passes in less than a heartbeat, shattered by her shrieks of horror followed by hysterical sobs and frantic pleas, _his_ name falling from her lips as tears stream from her eyes.

His first instinct is to comfort her, wrap his arms around her and tell her everything will be alright, but he's confused by her reaction to _his_ death. Surely, she knows that he did her a favor, saved her from a terrible mistake. So why is she acting as if her world just ended?

He watches as she cups _his_ face in her hands, begging _him_ to wake up, pleading with _him_ to be okay, refusing or unable to acknowledge the cold hard truth that _he's_ dead.

His heart breaks for her as she cries over the corpse of her lover, his earlier rage all but forgotten.

Without thinking, he reaches out, resting his hand on her bare shoulder, softly calling her name. She startles at the contact, flinching away from his touch, and he feels like he's been slapped.

Her red-rimmed, watery eyes, filled with anguish and sorrow, meet his gaze, and for a moment, he's certain she'll reach out to him, wrap her arms around him and allow him to comfort her. Instead, her anguish turns to fury, sorrow to hate. The next thing he knows, she dives at him, knocking him to the floor as she punches and claws at him, howling with anger, spitting venom and spewing curses.

Her fists strike him in the face and chest, anywhere she can reach. He tries to protect himself, swatting at her hands to deflect the blows while trying not to hurt her. His defense only enrages her further, and she swipes at his face, making contact, tearing skin and drawing blood.

He backhands her out of instinct, causing her to yelp in pain, halting her assault. He instantly regrets his action, raising his hand to her face to check for damage.

Again, she flinches at his touch, but she doesn't pull away, which he takes as a good sign.

There's a red welt on her left cheek that he's certain will turn into a hell of a bruise, and he feels like the world's biggest asshole for hurting her, wishing desperately that he could undo the harm he caused her.

In his concern, he doesn't notice her reaching for the revolver, still in his right hand. By the time he realizes what she's doing, the gun is in her possession.

As she points it at his face, he shoves her hard, sending her flying into the side of the bed, the gun firing a round harmlessly into the wall.

She recovers quickly and takes aim again, but she's too slow.

He slaps the gun from her hand and wraps his arms around her from behind in an effort to subdue her.

She kicks and screams as she tries to free herself, throwing her head back, hitting him in the face and staggering him.

He adjusts his grip, one hand going over her mouth only to be bitten.

He cries out in agony as her teeth pierce the skin and sink into the meat, drawing blood.

He punches her in the side of the head, jarring her enough that she lets go, nearly taking a chunk of his hand in the process.

Angry though he is, he doesn't want to hurt her, so he wraps an arm around her neck, applying pressure, hoping that a lack of oxygen will take the fight out of her.

She flails against his body as she struggles to free herself, her hands clawing at his arm, nails raking away skin.

He squeezes harder.

After several minutes, the fight finally goes out of her, and she goes limp.

Breathing heavily, he loosens his stranglehold and gently lays her on the bed. A moment later, he takes a seat next to her, the edge of the bed dipping under his weight.

It takes a few minutes for his heart to slow and his breathing to even. A sense of calm descends upon him as he thinks about what he's done. Killing a man is no small thing, at least it didn't used to be, and killing this particular man should weigh heavy on him, but it doesn't. Part of him always knew it would come to this, not that he wanted it to, but he did what he had to do, and he's surprisingly okay with it, not a shred of guilt or remorse, not even the tiniest hint of sadness...just relief and a profound sense of peace.

His newfound inner peace wavers as his thoughts shift from the dead man to her. He's still surprised by her reaction to _his_ death. He knew she cared for _him_ , but he never realized just how much until he saw the pain, the heartbreak in her eyes. He's still stunned by the anger and hatred he saw and felt directed at him.

Absently, his hand goes to his face, specifically to the deep scratches left by her nails. He winces as his fingertips touch the wound, and when he pulls his hand back, he sees blood.

Sighing, he can't help but feel as though he deserves to suffer a little. After all, he clearly made her suffer, even if it was for her own good.

He reaches out his other hand, searching for hers. When he makes contact, he grimaces in pain, forgetting that this is the hand that was bitten. He'll definitely have a scar when it heals, but it's a small price to pay.

Even though his hand is covered in blood and throbs with pain, he takes hold of her hand, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze. She doesn't flinch or pull away, which he takes as a good sign.

Without looking at her, he tries to set things right between them.

"I'm sorry, Ellie. I know that probably don't mean much, especially right now, but I am sorry. I never wanted it to come to this, never wanted to hurt you. I just couldn't stand by and watch you make such a huge mistake."

He pauses to take a breath and clear his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"I know you're hurtin', and that's fine. You gotta right. I just want you to know that, no matter what, I'm here for you, whatever you need. If you need space, you got it. If you need a hug, you got it. Whatever I can do to make this better, make it easier for you, I'll do it. All you gotta do is tell me."

Giving her hand one last squeeze, he finishes with, "I love you. You know that, right?"

She doesn't answer, but he didn't expect her to, not yet. She's still pissed, still hurting, but he has faith that she'll come around eventually.

He sits there holding her hand in silence for a while, thinking of all the good days that are yet to come, the days when she'll smile at him again, hug him again, tell him she loves him again, and it makes him smile.

Still smiling, he turns to look at her.

She's lying on the bed, her hair, perpetually in a ponytail, is loose and fanned out around her, like an auburn halo. The early morning sun gives her porcelain skin an amber glow, which makes her look every bit the heavenly beauty she is.

Her eyes, those crystalline green orbs, so full of life, wonderment and the innocence of youth, that he's secretly longed to have look at him the way a woman looks at a man, are focused on him, only him, and it fills his heart with unspeakable joy.

The sorrow and anger that was etched on her face is gone, replaced by a kind of serenity that only comes with acceptance and forgiveness.

Without thinking, he reaches out, his fingertips tracing the curve of her cheek, lightly skimming over the red welt that's already starting to turn purple. She doesn't flinch, but his heart clenches in his chest, knowing that he did that to her, hit her, hurt her. He doesn't dwell on it, though, too caught up in touching her, feeling the warmth of her skin against his.

His exploration continues to her lips, coated in the red of his blood from when she bit him. He traces the outline of her full, plump lips before brushing his thumb over them, wiping away some of the blood.

 _He shivers with delight when she gently kisses the pad of his thumb._

He traces the line of her jaw, fingertips slowly grazing along the soft skin of her neck before sliding down to her chest where he gently presses his palm against her freckled skin. He loves her freckles and has always wondered just how far down her body they go.

 _Beneath his palm, her heart flutters._

As if by its own volition, his hand follows the trail of freckles, slowly sliding through the valley between her breasts, his fingers splaying in order to touch as much of her small-yet-perfect globes as possible.

 _Her nipples harden into tiny peaks as his hand skims along the edges of her breasts._

The freckles go lower, leading his hand on a path along her firm stomach and over her bellybutton before ending just above the thick thatch of auburn curls between her legs.

 _Goosebumps rise on her skin, and she shivers slightly as his hand slowly moves closer to the apex of her thighs, closer to her most intimate place._

The curls glisten with moisture, calling to him, begging him to touch them. He's unable to resist, running his fingers through the coarse hair, reveling in the softness. His hand dips lower, his middle finger tracing the seam of her sex.

 _She moans, low and breathy, as he slides his fingers through her damp, auburn curls, her breath catching as his middle finger traces the seam of her sex._

When he removes his hand, his fingers are coated in her intimate moisture. Instinctively, he brings his hand to his nose, inhaling her essence, which causes his cock to stir in his pants. Without thinking, he sticks his middle finger into his mouth, sucking her sweet ambrosia from his skin, reveling in the taste and growing harder by the second. He proceeds to clean each of his fingers in turn, careful to get every last drop of the delicious nectar. By the time he's done, his head is spinning with lust, his cock aching as it strains against his jeans.

 _She watches with lust-filled eyes as he brings his hand to his nose, inhaling her essence, before sticking his middle finger in his mouth, sucking her sweet ambrosia from his skin, and then proceeding to clean each of his fingers in turn._

Unable to control himself, he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, freeing his cock, which throbs with each beat of his heart.

His uninjured hand wraps around the shaft, giving it a slow pump.

He wants to come, is desperate for release, but jerking off holds no appeal for him.

 _Her eyes follow his every move as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, freeing his engorged cock, her pupils dilating as he wraps his hand around the shaft, giving it a slow pump._

His eyes roam over her body, soaking in her beauty, further fueling his desire. When he catches sight of her still-glistening curls, his pupils dilate, his heart rate increases and his breathing becomes labored.

Before he realizes what's happening, he's on the bed, between her legs, his jeans and underwear pushed down to his thighs.

He's about to push his length inside her when he regains some semblance of reason, halting his actions and silently cursing his presumptuousness and disregard of Ellie's wants and desires. For all he knows, she may not want this, may not want him the way he wants her. Just because she hasn't said no, hasn't protested or tried to stop him, doesn't mean she's given her permission for him to proceed.

His eyes meet hers, searching, asking, begging, pleading for some indication that this is what she wants, that this is what she _needs_.

A lifetime passes in the few moments it takes for him to find what he's looking for. A glint of light, a twinkle in the green depths of her eyes tells him everything he needs to know, giving him not only her permission, but her blessing.

 _She spreads her legs, making room for him as he settles between her thighs, his jeans and underwear pushed down to his thighs. He's about to push his length inside her when he stops, suddenly hesitant, unsure if this is what she wants. He looks at her in askance, his eyes all but begging her for permission. Her response is a soft smile and her small hand on his cock, gently stroking along the length, her eyes aglow with lust and mischief._

The corners of his mouth quirk upward in silent gratitude as he grasps his cock in one hand, rubbing it along the seam of her sex, slightly parting the delicate folds, before aligning the tip with her entrance and applying gentle but constant pressure. Inch by inch, he slowly pushes his hard length inside her, her body stretching to accommodate him, until he bottoms out, his pelvis flush with hers.

 _She whimpers as he rubs his cock along the seam of her sex, slightly parting the delicate folds, and bites her lip as he aligns the tip with her entrance and begins slowly pushing his length inside her. She moans as her body stretches to accommodate him and shudders when he bottoms out, his pelvis flush with hers._

His eyes are squeezed shut, and he's practically panting as his body is nearly overwhelmed with the pleasurable sensation of being inside her welcoming warmth. It takes all of his restraint and control not to blow his load right then and there.

Once he's relaxed a bit and eased back from the edge of orgasm, he tries an experimental thrust, pulling back only an inch or so before pushing back in.

His groan of pleasure reverberates in his chest and travels all the way to his groin, causing his whole body to shiver.

 _Her eyes glaze over as he pulls back only an inch or so before pushing back in, her inner muscles spasming, clenching around his shaft as his groan of pleasure reverberates through his body and into hers._

He's fantasized about this moment, being with her, being inside her, but never, in his wildest dreams, did he ever think it could feel _this_ _fucking good_.

He pulls back again, this time a couple of inches, before surging back in, causing his vision to go hazy for a moment before coming back into focus.

He repeats the motion, pulling back before surging forward, setting a slow but steady pace.

His body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending alive with electrical current, the muscles in his arms quivering as they struggle to hold him up.

He's lost in sensation, reveling in the feel of her, the tightness, the warmth.

 _Once he's found a rhythm, slow and steady, she wraps her legs around him, ankles locking, and grips his forearms. Each time he bottoms out, she squeezes, his cock and his forearms, fingernails digging in, and bites her lip, an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain coursing through her body like an electrical current, making every muscle in her body quiver._

He's not sure how long he's been at it, but it seems like only the blink of an eye before he feels a tingle at the base of his spine and a building pressure in his balls.

 _Not yet_ , he thinks. _I want this to last forever._

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever.

Knowing the end is near, he opens his eyes and finds hers, holding her gaze, trying his best to convey exactly how he feels about her, how much being with her like this means to him with just a look and an assortment of moans and groans.

His pace accelerates, despite his efforts to keep it slow, to delay the inevitable.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills his ears, along with the thundering of his heart, sweat dripping from his brow as he races toward the finish line.

 _She's not sure how long they've been at it, but she knows the end is near when he accelerates his pace, every muscle in his body straining with effort, sweat dripping from his forehead onto her already sweat-slick chest. His eyes open and find hers. What she sees looking back at her is wild and primal, a torrent of lust tempered with love. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, combined with his grunts and moans and the pounding of her heart thundering in her ears, is like a beautiful symphony._

The pressure builds, straining against the dam until, finally, it breaks, the wave of pleasure exploding outward, crashing over him, his vision going dark, the roar of blood through his veins deafening, his cock pulsing, shooting thick streams of sticky liquid heat from his body into hers.

 _The pressure builds, straining against the dam until, finally, it breaks, the wave of pleasure exploding outward, crashing over her, her vision going dark, the roar of blood through her veins deafening, her inner muscles rippling and clenching as he spills himself inside her, squeezing every last drop of sticky liquid heat from his body._

He thrusts once, twice more before he collapses on top of her with a grunt, his body spent and exhausted.

 _He manages two more thrusts before collapsing on top of her with a grunt. Like him, she's completely spent and exhausted, yet she manages to wrap her arms around him, gently stroking his hair, savoring the weight of his body pressing down on her, reveling in the sporadic twitching of his cock as it slowly softens and shrinks inside of her._

The last thing he remembers is hearing her breathy voice whisper his name.

 _Still a bit breathless, she presses a tender kiss to his temple and whispers his name._

 _Tommy._

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She enters the house cautiously, her eyes surveying everything, searching for any sign of danger, gun at the ready.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary, no indication that anything is wrong.

She can feel the men behind her, both with weapons drawn, both on alert.

Passersby heard gunshots coming from this house, so she and a couple of men immediately came to investigate, but so far, they've found nothing.

Pushing further into the house, they fan out, the men going to search the kitchen and living room while she makes her way to the bedroom.

Her steps are slow and measured, her senses on alert.

As she approaches the bedroom, she notices the door is open, the morning sunlight illuminating the room and part of the hallway.

Drawing nearer, she hears a faint sound coming from inside the room. The closer she gets, the louder the sound becomes.

At first, she can't tell what the sound is or what or who is making it. By the time she reaches the doorway, there's no doubt that what she's hearing is the sound of people having sex.

She's tempted to just turn around, because the last thing she wants to see is Joel and Ellie having sex, but there were several gunshots coming from this house, and she'd be negligent in her duty if she didn't investigate and make sure everyone's okay.

She's not sure if she should announce her presence by speaking or knocking and eventually decides to knock, rapping several times on the doorframe.

Receiving no acknowledgment from anyone inside the room, she calls out.

"Joel? Ellie? It's Maria. You guys alright in there?"

Again, no response, but she can still hear the telltale sound of sex.

Cursing under her breath, she screws up her courage and enters the room, keeping her eyes downcast.

"Hey. Sorry to barge in like this, but we got reports that..."

Her words are cut off when she looks up and catches her first glimpse of a scene so horrific that it will be forever burned into her memory.

On one side of the bed, naked as the day he was born, is Joel, a bullet hole in his forehead, the pillow and sheets beneath his head soaked in blood. On the other side of the bed, also naked, is Ellie, head lolled to the side, her eyes open, staring vacantly at the ceiling, arm hanging lifelessly from the edge of the bed, her chest still, clearly dead, just like Joel.

The most disturbing thing about this scene, though, is the fact that Tommy, her husband, is on top of Ellie, his pants pulled down to his thighs, fucking her.

The sight makes her physically and violently ill, her stomach roiling and churning as she vomits, spilling her breakfast onto the wooden floor.

 _What the fuck,_ is the only thought that races through her mind as she watches her husband fuck the corpse of his brother's wife while his brother's dead body lies only a foot or so away.

She wants to close her eyes and cover her ears, but she can't. She wants to pull Tommy off of Ellie, but she can't. There's even a part of her that wants to shoot Tommy, but she can't.

Unable to move or speak, she's forced to watch as her husband defiles Ellie's body.

Tears fill her eyes, and silent sobs wrack her body as Tommy finishes and collapses on top of Ellie.

The glassy eyes and euphoric look on his face along with the satisfied smile on his lips send a chill down her spine.

Her voice sounds so weak, so broken as she says his name, _"Tommy."_


End file.
